


Mother Dearest

by DancingLassie



Series: Oxenfurt Academicals [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: But Geralt hasn't arrived yet, But Jaskier pines for him from a distance, Ciri has PTSD, Crossdressing, Even if he also fantasises about slapping him, Found Family, He's a bit slow on the uptake, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskiers acting as Ciri's dad, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oxenfurt Academy, Pretend Father/Daughter relationship, University traditions, Unrequited Love, but she's slowly learning how to smile again, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie
Summary: “You can't keep yourselves locked away until the world returns to the way it was.  I'm coming over for dinner tonight.  As one of your oldest and dearest friends, I insist on meeting your daughter properly.  If she's anything like her father, we'll become great friends.  Make sure you tell the kitchen to send you up the beef; the other option tonight is carp, and you know it gives me bad gas.”Jaskier can't keep Ciri locked away in his rooms at Oxenfurt forever.  One of his oldest friends wants to meet his new 'daughter' and introduce her to some of Oxenfurt Academy's rather... unusual traditions.  Everyone loves a family picnic.  Right?
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Oxenfurt Academicals [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645921
Comments: 74
Kudos: 554





	Mother Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to start with saying how very sorry I am this took so long. I got completely swept away with 'Kingdoms come and Kingdoms go, Rivers run and Rivers flow' and this got accidentally put to the side.
> 
> Would like to thank [Willowherb](https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/) for all the work they put into this chapter. It was a mess of tenses when I'd finished it and I had no hope of untangling it on my own!

“Did you discover religion while you were on the road?”

Jaskier turned from where he’d been brushing away his notes on the chalkboard. Hugh Hollbard was walking sedately through the crowd of students piling out of the lecture hall after his lecture on modern poetry. Though from Oxenfurt's point of view, modern meant anything less than three hundred years old.

“I should think I still have more sense than that. Which religion do you believe would suit me? Or perhaps the more relevant question is, which religion would have me? Most of the ones I know of that can be practiced in polite society tend to frown on several different aspects of my lifestyle. And the ones that are not practiced in polite society tend not to pay a bard too well in anything but his continued existence.”

Hugh grinned as he raised a hand to clap Jaskier solidly around the back of his neck and pull him into a quick embrace. Jaskier allowed this, despite his friend smelling rather strongly as if he'd spent the afternoon in the butchers. He must have had an anatomy lecture before coming over and the bard could see a few of his own hungover students looking rather green after Hugh had brushed past them. Still allowances had to be made for old friends and Jaskier had certainly smelt worse on his travels. He wrinkled his nose only slightly and magnanimously refrained from commenting.

Judging by the slight widening of Hugh’s grin, his thoughts had not gone unnoticed.

“I only ask because you seem to have taken a vow of solitude since you got back to Oxenfurt. I don't see you at breakfast; you go straight back to your rooms after lectures; when you deign to grace us with you and your charming new daughter's presence at dinner, you sit apart and hardly anyone can get a conversation longer than half a minute out of you.

“What’s going on Buttercup? Acquiring a daughter was sure to come as a shock, but you’ve practically become a hermit.”

Jaskier hesitated. It was true; he had become something of a recluse of late, but he could hardly explain it was because he was hiding the traumatised Princess of Cintra in his rooms. He hadn’t consciously tried to keep her away from the faculty, but he supposed he might have done so inadvertently. Part of him was terrified that one of the numerous intelligent men and women he’d surrounded them with would have a conversation with the girl and suss out the secret they were so desperately trying to hide. Not only that, but Ciri seemed so withdrawn since their arrival, choosing to hide away in her room with one of the many books Jaskier had acquired for her from the Oxenfurt library. Jaskier was truly terrified that if he pushed her too hard, she’d break.

“I... It's Fiona, Hugh. I can't just run off to the pub after lectures any more. You have to understand; I need to put her first now. She was near the city when it was raided. Returning to school you see... And she just hasn't... I don't...” Words were fickle friends indeed. Why was it they chose to betray him solely around the people he cared for most? They so often fled him when he needed them or chose to come tumbling out at the worst possible moment ( _ that gods-forsaken mountain _ ). Put him in front of a stranger, or rival, and he could serenade them with sweet promises or tear them down with a sharp, brutal barb. Put him on the spot with a dear friend, and things tended to go pear-shaped rather quickly.

“I'm not good at this,” he finished lamely, turning to brush the last smudges of chalk off the board and catching his friend's sympathetic expression out of the corner of his eye.

He felt the familiar weight of Hugh's hand on his shoulder, grounding him as it had done so often when essays, deadlines and exams began to get the better of him in their student days. 

“This was never going to be easy,” Hugh told him softly, adopting the soothing tone he must use on the patients he still sometimes treated. “You said her mother kept you away?”

Jaskier nodded, throat clogging with the lie. “Hmm... Yes. She was quite clear that I was either in, or I was out, but that I was not to confuse Fiona by being a partial presence. I was permitted to send money and pay for a good school for her, but no more.”

Hugh nodded. “The poor child has been through a traumatic ordeal and while you both know logically that you're her father, neither of you really knows the other. It'll take time to build a proper relationship. It will be awkward, but that doesn't mean you're bad at this. Everyone can see that you're trying. Even Professor Moran admits that.”

“Really, what's that old bastard said?” Jaskier couldn't help but interrupt. Professor Moran was a well-known critic of his, both when he had taught Jaskier as a student and now when commenting on the poetry and ballads on which he’d built his career.

Hugh laughed and ignored his question. “You can't keep yourselves locked away until the world returns to the way it was. I'm coming over for dinner tonight. As one of your oldest and dearest friends, I insist on meeting your daughter properly. If she's anything like her father, we'll become great friends. Make sure you tell the kitchen to send you up the beef; the other option tonight is carp, and you know it gives me bad gas.”

He left before Jaskier could open his mouth to reply. The bard made a rude gesture at his retreating back before heading to the kitchens to do as he was told. He’d shared rooms with Hugh before, and knew only too well the effect of carp on his friend’s digestive system.

Maybe Hugh was right? It wouldn’t do Ciri any good to hide away forever. If she didn't come out, if they didn't show people that they were trying to build a bond, become a real family, then how long would the deception hold? How long before people connected his new-found daughter to the missing princess?

* * *

Ciri was sitting by the window when he entered their rooms. A book lay open on her lap, but she was staring out at the grass below instead. Tiny figures scurried beneath them, yelling greetings and taunts at one another, groups splitting and forming anew.

“I'm back,” he told her softly and she leapt up from her seat and turned towards him before hesitating. Jaskier had no such hesitation and gently wrapped his arms around her in greeting. Ciri melted into him, tickling his nose with her hair.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Did I ever tell you about that most awful scoundrel Valdo Marx, the hack and plagiarist?” He felt her nod. “Well, it turns out his niece is in my musical theory class and is just as insufferable as her uncle!” His voice was so full of indignation that this earned him a giggle.

“Will we be going down to the hall for dinner tonight?”

“Actually, we've got a guest coming to eat with us here instead,” Jaskier tried to sound casual but he was rather sure he’d failed when he felt her tense slightly against him and pull away.

“Who?” she asked warily. 

Jaskier did his best to look encouraging. “Only one of the best men you'll ever have the pleasure of dining with! He's one of my oldest and dearest friends and he’ll no doubt do his best to fill your head with embarrassing stories of my youth to try and make you lose all respect for me! I’m begging you; don’t believe a word of his slanders!”

“Who says I have any already?” she quipped back, and then batted him away when he laughed and mussed her hair. 

It appeared Hugh was right; this did seem to be a good idea. Ciri settled herself back in her seat at the window, actually picking up her book this time. Jaskier hummed absent-mindedly as he began lesson plans for the following week. Occasionally Ciri read him a line from her novel that she thought was pretty or profound and he sang it back to her in a complementary tune. Sometimes, he added on a few extra lines to make a pleasing verse for her.

It was as the sun disappeared completely below the horizon that Ciri's agitation began again and she started pacing round the room.

“What if we give something away?” she fretted and Jaskier put aside his notes to look at her. He tried to grab her hands, but she'd already spun away, heading back to the far side of the room. “We don't act like father and daughter. I don't know enough about you. Why don't I know more about you?”

On her next circuit, he did manage to catch her hands and squeezed them carefully. He stayed seated, giving her the height advantage.

“No one expects you to know much about me. They all believe we'd never met before...” he paused, not wanting to say “before Cintra burned”. He settled for “before I took you in two months ago. “Officially, your mother, very wisely, wanted me out of your life and, as she was an alderman's daughter, I very wisely obeyed. I did insist on sending you to the best school in the area, which is why you boarded at a girls’ school in Cintra. No one will question your accent, your manners, education or our lack of a relationship. Or why you don't know my favourite colour-”

“It's amber, isn't it?”

He blinks at her in astonishment and she shrugs. “You bought that ring,” Ciri gestured to his hand. “At the market on our first day here, when we went shopping for my clothes. You spent ages dithering over it and you told the stall holder that it reminded you of someone and didn't even haggle for it.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of one of her hands. “See, we'll be fine. I promise.” 

The amber ring, the same colour as a certain person's eyes, mocked him for the rest of the evening.

* * * 

The man who arrived shortly afterwards for dinner looked unremarkable. He was of average height, with neat dark hair, moustache and beard and just a few scattered grey hairs. He was squarely built and, while still fit, his waist appeared to be fighting a losing battle with the hearty dinners served by the Oxenfurt kitchens. But it was his eyes that caught her attention the most. They were a warm, soothing hazel that put her at ease, especially when he bowed politely to her and offered her a small bouquet of snowdrops tied with a blue ribbon. 

“It’s lovely to meet you properly without your father hiding you away.” He smiled at her and she shyly took the flowers as Jaskier pulled a face behind her.

“Where are my flowers?” he demanded, but stepped round Ciri to pull the other man into a tight hug. 

“Fiona,” he used her false name. “May I introduce you to one of my closest friends, Dr Hugh Hollbard, currently a medical lecturer at the Academy. Hugh, this is my daughter Fiona.”

“It's nice to meet you Dr Hollbard,” she murmured but was quickly cut off as the man in question insisted she call him Hugh.

“I used to share rooms with your father back when we both entered the Academy. No daughter of his should address me so formally. Not when I have seen the best and worst he has to offer.”

“The worst!” Jaskier cried indignantly. “The worst of me, I recall, was you! You were the one who encouraged my more daring adventures and took great delight in them. You were the one who hung garlands of our professors’ underwear across the dining hall and so kindly bestowed the credit on me!”

Hugh laughed as he moved to sit down at the table, helping himself without ceremony to a generous portion of beef. 

Jaskier followed, complaining the whole time about the mischief his more serious looking companion had got away with. Ciri was left to pop her snowdrops into a spare glass before joining them at the table.

A bread roll was shoved into Jaskier's mouth to stop the onslaught of grievances and Ciri had to concede that it was a wise tactic. She now knew from experience that her pretend father could talk himself hoarse if given no incentive to shut up.

It was an enjoyable evening. Both men did their utmost to put her at ease and include her in their conversation. Books turned out to be the most popular topic and when Ciri was unable to explain a point she wished to make, the two professors patiently coaxed it out of her and then suggested how she might formulate her argument. 

“You take after your father,” Hugh told her fondly as he sipped his wine. She tried not to stiffen and by her side she could feel the slight tensing of Jaskier's arm. If he noticed, Hugh was polite enough to ignore it. “He always had a head for stories. He could never leave them be, always wondering what messages were hidden or what the author was trying to convey.”

“Stories are important,” Jaskier hummed. “How else can one convey a message so effectively to the masses?”

“Is that why you became a bard?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier pondered this for a moment. “I suppose so. It combined two of the greatest loves of my life. Stories and music! Stories helped me through my childhood and got me all the way to Oxenfurt, and it was here I fell in love with music.”

“You mean you stumbled across it when you were hungover and accidentally went to the wrong lecture,” Hugh smirked and expertly dodged the kick aimed his way under the table.

He turned his attention back to Ciri. “What about you? Do you play any musical instruments?”

“Father,” the word still felt strange on her tongue, “is teaching me to play the lute and I can sing a bit.”

“A bit! Don't listen to her modesty Hugh. She sings like an angel!”

“Well, she doesn’t get that modesty from you! Still,” Hugh winked at her. “If the lute is not to your liking, there are many other music masters here. Seraphina teaches the harp and Oswald is a master with a fiddle. Have you considered joining any lessons?”

“Lessons?” she parroted back, unsure of his meaning.

Hugh shot Jaskier an incredulous look. “You paid all that money for a first class school and you haven't considered how she’ll continue her education?” 

The heat rose in Jaskier's cheeks and he looked down, mumbling something only barely intelligible about other, more pressing issues. Ciri had been feeling despondent for so long that she’d half forgotten what it was like to feel a strong emotion that wasn’t worry or fear. But now a familiar prickle of protectiveness crept up her spine, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. Jaskier should not feel embarrassed. He’d been kindness itself and she knew she’d not been the easiest of companions. She felt a pang of guilt as she eyed the slight bags bruising the skin below his eyes, and she reached over to grasp his hand. The look in her eyes challenged Hugh to say anything more.

It was an impressive look, she knew; she’d stolen it from her grandmother. Hugh, however, was much braver than the average Cintran courtier and he was not dissuaded from his topic. 

“What would you like to learn Fiona?” he asked her.

_ Like  _ to learn? She had no idea. As a princess, she'd had the best tutors in Cintra to teach her whatever her grandmother thought she should know, but never anything because she wanted to. Even the subjects she enjoyed (horse riding and poetry) were first dictated by Calanthe. She had listened to Jaskier on the way to Oxenfurt as he described to her the myriad of subjects on offer at the university, but she hadn’t really been paying attention. Much of what he’d said had just washed over her. It was more important to know he was speaking than to listen to what he said.

Her confusion must have been evident because Jaskier squeezed the hand still in his and began to gently go over the options. This time, she listened intently. Some she couldn’t help but sound interested in (botany would have been so useful when she was first lost in that forest) while others made her wrinkle her nose in distaste (nothing could convince her to learn Nilfgaardian). By the end of the evening, she had a tentative list of subjects she’d like to pursue and a few Jaskier insisted she should learn anyway.

“How does this work?” she asked Hugh. “Do I just join the lectures?”

“Not yet. Your father and I will go and talk to the professors and they’ll decide how they want to teach you. You’re a little bit younger than the other students. Most of them come to us when they’re about sixteen, so some professors may wish to teach you separately. Others will want you in class if they think you can cope.

“Don’t worry. Jaskier isn't the first professor who’s arranged alternative teaching arrangements for their offspring. There’s really only one other thing to be sorted out.”

Hugh grinned maniacally at his best friend and Jaskier must have known exactly what he was talking about because an apprehensive look spread across his own face. 

“No,” he protested. “Don’t even think about it!”

“But you know one of mine’s already dropped out. I have an odd number. Besides, who else would you want to do it?”

“I could do it.”

“Oh no, you can’t. You’re her father. You can’t be both.”

“What are you two talking about?” Ciri interrupted.

Hugh turned to her, a strange sort of madness in his eyes. “You know how I told you to call me Hugh? Well, I take it back. You can call me Mother.”

* * *

Ciri stared at Hugh as he twirled around in his dress in front of her, looking rather like the brothel madam she’d promised her grandfather she hadn’t seen when he’d smuggled her out one night to see the ships. 

It seemed the university had a number of very bizarre but long-standing traditions. One of which was academic families. To help lessen the homesickness the students often felt when entering the academy, they were all assigned a mentor who became their academic parent. This could be a professor, a researcher or a postgraduate student. So for centuries, new students at Oxenfurt Academy had found themselves grouped into small family units consisting of a theoretically older and wiser mentor and a few fellow first years who became affectionately known as siblings.

The cross-dressing had come later.

One of the university’s most celebrated chancellors had been a fellow known as Anthony Valdemir. He’d been the one who’d really helped put Oxenfurt on the map as having one of the best academic institutions on the entire Continent. He’d been well loved by both the staff and students and when asked why he’d never settled down and had a few children of his own, he claimed that the university was all the family he needed. 

Of course, they’d found out during his autopsy, after he’d collapsed during a rather intense game of Gwent, that Anthony was actually Antonia. She’d successfully disguised herself as a man for her entire career at a time when women weren’t yet accepted into the university as anything other than maids. And so it’d become traditional to honour the deceased chancellor by switching the gender of the academic parents (though it took a further fifty years to consider letting women in to study). Male academic parents were now referred to as ‘Mother’, and when women eventually joined them, they were known as ‘Father’.

As the tradition evolved, the entire faculty descended upon the university lawn for a ‘family picnic’ after the first month of classes. Costumes were not optional.

“You look lovely Mother,” Ciri’s new ‘brother’ Heather complimented dutifully. Heather, a rosy cheeked blonde girl, was a dirty liar. Hugh was in a bright yellow, ruffled monstrosity that was dripping in ivory lace. His cheeks were rouged, lips painted red and bright purple eyeshadow coated his upper eyelids. The long, blonde wig clashed horrendously with his dark beard. 

“Thank you darling,” Hugh trilled in a comically bad falsetto. “What beautiful children I have as well.”

Piotr and Arnvald, Ciri’s new ‘sisters’ snickered as they smoothed down their own yellow frocks. Ciri had met them and Heather the day before. They were all a couple years older than Ciri and had instantly taken to having an obvious ‘baby’ of the group.

Ciri and Heather were both dressed in pale yellow trousers with matching doublets. She now understood why Jaskier unlaced his own at every opportunity. They were uncomfortably tight around the neck. 

“Lace that back up, Fiona. Your father is such a bad influence on you,” Hugh scolded. Thankfully Piotr, his naturally long brown hair braided into pigtails, did it for her, keeping it as loose as he was able. 

“Much better,” Hugh cooed. “Now come on ducklings, we don’t want to be late.” He shooed them from his rooms and they all shuffled self-consciously into the corridor. It soon became apparent that this wasn’t all an elaborate prank, as they joined other students and their mentors, all looking equally ridiculous.

The students shared self-conscious smiles, while the professors (far too accustomed to this to be embarrassed anymore) ribbed each other mercilessly as they shepherded their charges outside for the picnic. It was a cold day, but fires had been lit in iron burners throughout the quadrangle to keep the chill at bay. 

“Feeling alright there Fiona?” Hugh made sure to check in with her. “I realise this might be a bit overwhelming. You’ve not even begun lessons yet.” 

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Were you and my father academic siblings?”

“No, we had different parents. Your father was actually the daughter of the current chancellor. In a way, that makes him your grandmother.” 

Hugh obviously meant well, but the word ‘grandmother’ caused a spike of pain to shoot through Ciri. It must have been noticeable because Hugh wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Jaskier,” Hugh suddenly shouted and Ciri looked towards where he was gesturing with his other hand. “You’re not supposed to try and make this look good!”

“The rest of you lot may not have standards, but I certainly do,” Jaskier huffed from where he was sitting primly on the ground surrounded by his own four students. He was in a long, elegantly cut, pink silk gown. Pale blue thread formed intricate patterns around the neck and down the sleeves, and he was twirling a parasol the same colour as his dress over his shoulder. A wig matching his natural hair colour was made up elegantly on top of his head while his make-up was minimalist and tasteful, drawing attention to the bright blue of his eyes.

There was no other word for it; he was pretty. 

“That’s your father?” Arnvald checked with Ciri, eyes not leaving Jaskier’s silk clad form.

She gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow. “Gross,” she hissed at him, and he had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. 

Hugh and Jaskier were still arguing over Jaskier’s look, with the medical professor trying to mess up the bard’s wig while his friend kept him at bay with his parasol. 

Ciri watched them, an old but now unfamiliar feeling beginning to work its way back into her heart. Jaskier took a swipe at Hugh’s knees and the professor tumbled onto the grass, skirts riding up to mid calf and exposing several inches of extremely hairy legs.

Joy, she realised. That feeling was joy.

She laughed, a bright, loud burst of merriment that made both men turn towards her. Jaskier was looking at her in wonder, his gold lined eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Do you find something amusing, Fiona?” Hugh asked her from the grass, not bothering to straighten his skirts.

She grinned at him.

“Yes mother dearest.”

**Author's Note:**

> Who doesn't love a bit of crossdressing? This was partly inspired by St Andrews University who sort first year students into little family groups with older students.
> 
> Let me know if you know of any strange and bizarre academia traditions. Feel free to leave in the comments or come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://dancinglassie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
